


Breathe

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 22:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30045855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: In a fight about proper breathing technique, one would think the thoracic surgeon would win.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Breathe

Once, his rank and his wealth and his education would have intimidated his pretty, little lover.

No longer. 

Now, Max was quietly waiting for him to stop fussing. 

“And where did you learn this - this holistic snake oil cure?” Charles demanded. 

“School. Y’know - the one you went to. The one with a Winchester wing on the library. I like to study there and fantasize about you comin’ in and dragging me off to the stacks, by the way.”

Charles ignored this (or seemed to - in actuality his clever mind created a new cubbyhole in the letterbox of his brain for research how to have sex in the library with Max) and asked, “Which class?” He feigned a shudder. “Psychology?”

Max’s voice was fond, gentle - and knowingly exasperated. “Medical terminology, baby.”

Charles’ pale brows raced together, seeming to knit in consternation. “Why are you taking  _ that _ ?”

“To help you out when you read all those medical articles at me. Ta be useful.”

_ Good, God. My lover is making himself into a nineteenth-century helpmeet…  _ And it was mysteriously enticing. “Max, darling… you need not certify your utility to me. I love you.” 

“I love you, too, baby. That’s why I want you ta try this with me. Gimme ten minutes. If you hate it, we’ll stop.” 

“I will hate it,” Charles assured him, grumbling. “But if it is your wish, then lead on.” 

Max leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “Thank you, Major baby. Now quit looking so miserable.” He sat facing the love of his life, then, pausing to untuck his shirts (which elicited more grumbling) and trace a soft touch up and down his chest. 

“The way you breathe has lots ta do with how you feel,” Max explained, following the line of his sternum. “If your breath’s up high, up here, you’ll feel more anxious.”

Charles breathed out a  _ sigh _ . “Pet, I am a thoracic surgeon. I know how lungs work.”

Max wasn’t put off. “I know that, baby, but I bet you don’t think ‘bout your lungs too much. And you breathe up here all the time.” 

“How do you know that?”

“‘Cause I watch you. My favorite days are when you leave these top two buttons open. Y’almost never do, but I like it every time. Now breathe down here,” he cupped the swell of his lower belly. “Like this. With me.” 

Charles strove not to grind his teeth at this indignity. He  _ hated  _ this part of himself, had no desire to be reminded of weight that even Korea could not vanquish with its deprivations. “Maxwell…”

“You said ten minutes.” He guided the Major’s hand to his stomach so that Charles could feel the motion of his breath, the ballooning out of his stomach. Eyes lowered, he admitted, “Always amazes me, how much a me you can cover with just one of those big hands of yours. Always turns me on.” 

“It always amazes me,” Charles returned, still brittle and immediately regretting it, “how you can say such things in broad daylight!” 

Max chuckled; the doctor felt it under his hand. “Not ashamed of wanting you, Charles. Needing you. Now breathe- nice ‘n slow. You can do this at your desk, maybe, right? When you’re alone? Maybe it’ll help get some of the tension outta your neck, your shoulders.” 

Charles was still trying to reduce the size of the stomach on which Maxwell’s fingers rested. “Why,” he wriggled, bright with shame at having his worst aspects highlighted, “why are you so concerned with this?”

Hurt flashed in dark eyes. “‘Cause I want you happy. Healthy. Surgeons have heart attacks, you know, younger than other people. ‘S stressful work - and you already did two years in a war zone.” 

Of course he knew. Medical school had highlighted the benefits of certain specializations - and their drawbacks. Thoracic surgery was prestigious and paid well, was challenging and life-saving… but full of risks - not all of them belonging to the patient. 

His voice grew cold. “Pet, in less than a quarter of an hour, you have already drawn attention to my physical deficits. Are you saying, now, that you regret the years between us? Fear that I may get sick and leave you to care for me?” 

Max lifted himself up and nipped at his lower lip, bruising it, making him hiss in surprise. 

“Teach you to put words in my mouth - ‘specially mean ones. You know the only one of us who gets fussy ‘bout your looks or your age?  _ You _ . I loved you the first time I saw you and you’re more beautiful now than you were then. And, yeah, I do want you to stay healthy - but not ‘cause I care about taking care of you. ‘Cause I want to do fun things with you for our whole lives. But if it’s gonna get you all twisted up, I got plenty of other stuff I can do with my time.”

Charles gripped his waist. “Wait, Max. Please. I- I am sorry.” 

“Y’should be.”

“I  _ am _ . You know that I - there are yet things with which I struggle.”

“Everybody has those things, baby. Just wish you’d let me help. Not that I guess I’m doin’ a very good job.” He frowned. “Been telling you you’re handsome for years - since before you even wanted me to, I think. Been kissing you in all those places you wanna hide from me.” He looked genuinely downhearted. “Is it you don’t believe me ‘cause I don’t know the right things to say?”

Charles never lied to the man he loved. “I believe…,” he swallowed hard, not wishing to hurt him, but knowing he was about to, “I believe that you believe those things, pet.” 

Max heard the rest. “But you’re not sure how long I’m gonna. Huh.” He stood then and wrapped his arms around himself, cold. 

“Maxwell, what are you doing?”

He was pacing. “Tryin’ ta make up my mind, sir.”

Charles knew he didn’t notice the shift into formal address, but the physician did. “About where to go?” 

“How ta get there. Car’s yours.”

“Ours.”

“I don’t think anything ever was, sir. You never let yourself be mine for a minute, sounds like.” He sighed. “Not for ‘ long as it takes to take a breath. I hope… I hope you can find somebody ta trust, sir. Somebody you’ll believe. Somebody better than me. Last part shouldn’t be too hard.”

Charles didn’t think it was possible. The love of one’s life didn’t  _ walk away _ , taking nothing, clearly shattered but fighting hard not to show it. But Max did - and right then the thoracic surgeon thought he might die… because he had forgotten how to breathe. 

***

When hurt or sick, Maxwell Q. E. W. Klinger was like a cat, secreting himself from view. For all that, Charles knew that Max had left with the meager amount of cash in his wallet - and hiding places cost money. There was a chance the young man might leave Boston, entire, but that, too would be costly. Charles gambled against it, searching night and day - taking a leave from work. When asked why he needed the time, he had looked at his supervisor as though the venerable surgeon was quite mad and declared it “Impossible to perform surgery while oxygen-impaired!” It was hard to argue with that. 

What it was not hard to do was bribe silly the concierge at the modest hideaway Max has chosen - weather-beaten cabin hidden among the bluffs, screening guests from each other and the world. When Max entered, Charles was seated on the floor, top buttons artfully undone, exhausted. 

“I’d be half impressed if you picked the lock, sir, insteada payin’ some blue collar ta open it. Go home, Charles.” 

“Come with me and I shall.” 

Max shook his head. “I did. Woulda stayed forever with you, too, if you’da had some damn faith in me. What else did you shine me on about? School? How good you said I made you feel?” 

“Please come here, Max.”

“Sorry, sir. Can’t think of one reason I should. And I think you know if I let you get close enough, you’ll convince me with those hands of yours - and then I’ll hafta try ta get over you again. ‘M not strong enough ta do it once - don’t wanna go double or nothing.”

“Ten minutes. Please. I wish… I wish to try that breathing exercise. I have been practicing in your absence.” 

Max looked like he might want to scream. “That’s… that’s  _ mean _ , sir.” 

“I never believed you might make me prefer ‘sir,’ of all things - but it is preferable to being told to go. I swear to you that I wish to be anything but cruel. Please. Ten minutes.” 

“Think  _ I’m  _ going to hate this, this time. Oh wait - I hated it last time, too.” But he sat down anyway. Charles knew his energetic anger was a way to fight tears; Pierce had told him about Max’s early days in Korea, when he’d channeled sass to keep from curling up in a corner. 

“You are breathing too high up, too fast,” Charles told him. 

“Don’t care.”

“There were times when I saw you nearly hold your breath at the sight of me. No one ever thought me breathtaking before, Maxwell. Surely you can forgive me for not knowing how to act in the face of something as rare as you?” 

“If you could see it, why didn’t you believe me?”

“I thought that if I did not... if it ended up  _ not  _ to be true- that look in your eyes, the flash of your throat… then it might not hurt so badly, later.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

“Has your medical terminology class discussed hypoxia?”

“Yep.” 

He drew Max’s hand to his belly, let him feel the shivering loneliness of abandoned flesh. “I want to learn how to see myself through those dark, admiring eyes of yours. I want to draw an easy breath again. Please come home. Please lay beside me all night and let me time my breaths to yours. Tell me all the things you find lovely about me and I will kiss you twice for every tear I made you shed.”

“Three times. I look  _ awful  _ when I cry.” 

“Three times.”

“And you’ll really try to learn better this time? You’ll trust me?”

“Yes. I must, pet - or suffocate.”

“Stupid obituary for a fancy thoracic surgeon.”

“So spare me from it. Please?”

“Alright. Shoulda been nice to me the first time. In class, we talked about what that kinda breathing can do when you’re having sex.”

Charles gave a wondering look; Harvard was becoming liberal in its old age. “I, ah, I shall strive to become worthy again of your trust in hopes you might wish to bestow the knowledge upon me one day.”

Max shoved at his shoulder, the touch making him go electric. “You’ve always been worthy. ‘S what I been trying ta tell you. And you’d be the one doin’ the bestowing part.” 

Charles laughed - amazed to find he had breath, again, to do so. “I shall be very much looking forward, pet.” 

“First you gotta do the believin’ stuff right.” 

“I promise to try. Of course, you know, a little motivation might do wonders for my attempts.” 

Max held onto him then. “Don’t push me away again, okay? Don’t make it so I cry so hard I can’t breathe.”

“Never again, Max.”

And though he would struggle, still, to believe himself all that Max saw in him - that promise Charles kept. 

End! 


End file.
